Far away from Suburbia a couple could be seen in the dimmed light of a tent of a freak show. And through the frigid bars the figures in shadow are a bit more easily seen. A young woman and man in their early twenties, the man dressed in only fatigued muslin pants and years of scars covering his body and the woman in a blood-stained shirt and pants.

It was the man's blood, but she was not the one to spill it. In fact she was currently cleaning his wounds wondering about the nightmare they endured-this nightmare brought upon them by another man who called himself her husband and in his greed for her love thrust both her love and her into hell.

But the man who the woman held, sagged against her weakly thinking as well- that this hell was not because of the man who had imprisoned them both but because of the sharpened metal that he wore as hands.

Because of his scissorhands of wrought metal, he had been not only been made part of a freak show, but given others permission to use him, torture him, and perhaps one day kill him if they so desired. They were the reason he was useless in protecting his Sage from her husband's tyranny, forcing her to become the protector.

During the period of silence which had overcome the two of them, the woman finally asked a question she had been meaning to ask for as long as she had known him.

"Edward, can you please tell me about your past?"

The man smiled weakly.

"Of course,"

The story he was about to tell would be no reprieve from the sadness surrounding them, but it something to fill the current emptiness.

"I was once normal by society's standards with hands of flesh and blood, with a mother and father who loved me very much," started the man as he let memories of long ago filter into the emptiness.

The swelling sun grew over the glistening morning and the formidable gothic mansion; a small family was shuffling about inside.

"Edward!" called a woman down one of the darkened stone halls, yawning as she steadily brushed her onyx locks.

A man, half her age swiftly popped out of the door, giving her an early morning grin.

"Morning," mumbled the man as he plodded back into the room, trying to hide the fact that he had slept so late, brushing his blackened hair from his eyes.
Ze sighed thinking how her son should have been up at least an hour ago, as she plodded down the hall saying,

"Your father's waiting to eat, so hurry up please."

She strode elegantly into the room placing the silver handled brush on the nearby dresser of stained oak.

Edward meanwhile was hastening to get ready, feeling bad for waking up so late and pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, trying not to trip over himself, as any young man would.

His mother just smiled gently encouraging him to speed up the pace as she moved towards the door and started walking down the hallway again.

Moments later her son's lithe body hurdled past her, running eagerly towards the attractive smell of her cooking.

But the woman refused to rush, instead keeping her slow pace so she may hear the birds chirping outside.

By the time she reached the stairs she had already pulled her hair into a bun and could hear Vincent calling to her now.

"Oh the irony, mother," said Edward laughing.

"Hurry up now," he said before bursting into a fit of laughter, gaining a chuckle from his father.

But Ze just rolled her eyes, smiling, as she made her way down the stairs.

By the time she got to the kitchen, she heard a joking apology from Edward and a 'thank you' from both her boys.

All she could think about as she sat down was how much her son must have missed her cooking while he was away in collage.

Meanwhile Edward let himself dig in only glancing up to see his silver haired father speak of his most recent inventions to his mother who smiled graciously at every word.

But all he could think about was the dream that wouldn't let him wake.

Or rather the nightmare.

Stark white rooms and hallways that had a lingering sense of something horrid.

A feeling of metal surrounding his wrists; being bound.
Screaming.

Crying.

Then.

Pain.

Pure inexhaustible pain; and the some wicked knowledge which hung over him.

He supposed the worst part was the fact that he knew it would be coming soon-too soon.

But what could he do?

So stupidly, he ignored the nightmares in order to save his dear parents from worry.

Back in the present he heard Vincent speak of his current work.

How proud he was that he was an inventor's son.

"I can only think of how pleased my patients will be when they hear about what I'm working on now."

"Like Mr. Mintzer?" chirped the young man rejoining the conversation trying to fill his voice with excitement.

"Exactly; hopefully when I'm finished he'll be able to fully use his right hand and play the saxophone once more."

Edward coal-blacks eyes widened even more as he turned his thoughts to how he could one day have the chance to use the genius he inherited from his father.

Though he would dream of it, and he went to college with science in mind, his heart longed for the creative passion of painting and all things art which he practiced when he got the chance.

"So Edward how is college?" asked Ze as the family continued their meal happily.

"Not bad; of course the food there could never compare to yours…and I miss watching you paint."

Of course, her motherly instincts had been right about the food.

It was so obvious how much he longed to create art.

Sometimes she wondered why he pursued science with such fervor.
Hiding her worry she laughed saying

"I'm sure that now you're on your break you can paint all you want."

Edward nodded, digging in once again to his pancakes.

His father spoke next, humor on the tip on his tongue.

"I'm sure when you finish college your apartment will be just like your room; half filled with your books of science and art supplies scattered about everywhere."

Vincent then got up and put his dish in the sink, Edward and Ze finishing soon after.

Ze got up to do her daily duty of washing the dishes, but her son found himself offering to do so instead.

Only hours later after much family time spent together Vincent was called away for a meeting.

As Edward and Ze sat in the living room with only the sound of gentle music, she had a spark of some memory come to mind, a sudden reminder.

"I have to go shopping. Would you like to come with me?"

There had been no need to ask, but the mother seemed to find it tradition to ask.

Edward didn't look up from his painting; a watercolor full of life, vibrant reds and yellows mixed together to form the most beautiful designs. Nearby was another painting of his; a canvas with a thick painted black background and layered white swirls that seemed to move magically.

He had become immersed in his painting again, and hadn't seemed to have heard her.

Moving her old bones from the couch where she had been reading, she got up silently and walked over, calling softly.

His head turned in the slightest, proof that he had finally heard her.

Slowly, he finished a final stroke as lifted his brush from the canvas, wearing a guilty smile now.

"Shopping, you said?" he asked looking like he just woken from a dream, as he always did when he immersed himself in his art.

"When you finish painting, of course."

"No, it's okay, I'll finish it later. I think I need to take a break anyway," said the young man as he placed the brush into the old tin can filled with dirty water which needed to be emptied soon.
And without another word he made his way to the bathroom to wash his paint stained hands.

After joining his mother by the doorway they made their way to the main entrance.

"Mom, could you possibly make my favorite tonight?"

"Of course," said Ze wrapping am arm around her, kissing his head delicately from the side, making Edward feel nostalgic suddenly.

She had forgotten how nice it was to have him home.

………………………………..

"Sounds like a nice life," said the woman softly.

"It was."